Then There Was You(47)

I sat up straighter, not wanting him to feel sorry for me. “It’s for the best, really. Something that should have happened years ago.” And that was the truest thing I think I’d ever admitted aloud.

Chris stared at me intently. I don’t know why it made me nervous, but it did. I tried not to look too deeply into his soulful eyes as they searched mine because his scrutiny was unnerving.

The waiter returned, placing our drinks on the table. “Are you guys ready to order, or do you need a few minutes?” he asked.

“Just a few more minutes, please,” Chris said, taking a sip of his beer and opening the menu.

“Sure. Take your time. I’ll be back to check on you shortly.” Once again, the waiter disappeared around the corner.

I finally relaxed into my seat and soaked in every detail of Chris as he glanced over the menu. His dark brown hair was gelled, sporting a messy fauxhawk. His espresso eyes were set deep beneath a jutting brow line. I suddenly realized that this was not the same Chris that I knew from juvie. He was no longer the angst-ridden teenager who sat on the sofa in my office, pining over a girl. This was a very different Chris.

His elbows rested on the table, giving me a perfect view of the tattoos lining his arms. Some were tribal symbols, but one in particular caught my attention—a beautiful Latin phrase written on the outside of his forearm.

“Dum spiro spero,” I muttered aloud, attempting to enunciate the words correctly. Chris looked at me funny, so I pointed at his arm. “I love your tattoo.”

He glanced down and a look of sadness, maybe regret, washed over his face. “Thanks. I got it a few years ago. It’s Latin. My Latin teacher at Southside kept it posted on her wall. I never cared too much for her class, but for some reason that phrase always stuck with me.”

“What does it mean?”

“Well, it translates to ‘While I breathe, I hope.’”

“Oh, wow…” my voice trailed. “That’s beautiful. Hope for what?”

I watched his eyes as he caressed the tattoo, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Sucking in a deep, ragged breath, he sighed, “Hope for happiness. Love. Everything, really.” He pulled his arms in, looking self-conscious.

Despite his smile, his eyes were glassy and I worried I had struck a nerve. The counselor in me wanted to dig in and question him—get to the bottom of those emotions. If I knew I had more than just a few hours with him, I would have encouraged him to talk about it. But, this was my only time with Chris. It had been fourteen long years since I’d seen him and I wanted to cherish the time we got to spend together, not dredge up feelings that neither of us had time to process. Who knew if or when we’d see each other again?

Chris broke the momentary silence. “But, enough about me. What’re you ordering?”

I swept my eyes quickly over the menu. “I’m kinda leaning toward the marinated chicken gyro.”

“That sounds delicious. The lamb chops sound good, too.”

I suddenly noticed for the first time that it felt as if everyone in the room was staring at us. Chris fought to ignore them, focusing solely on me. I could only imagine what it was like to have everyone in the room recognize you, vying for an opportunity to ask for a picture or an autograph.

Before we had a chance to order our food, a girl who might have been thirteen years old practically exploded when she reached the table, a twinkling set of braces beaming dreamily at Chris. “Chris King, oh my gosh, it’s really you!” Her hands were waving wildly, fanning her face excitedly. A splatter of spit landed on my cheek and from the way Chris flinched, I couldn’t tell if he got sprayed too, or if he was upset about being noticed.

“Shhh,” he whispered in good humor. “Let’s not cause a riot. Be cool.”

She pursed her lips. “Sorry,” she said, wobbling like she might faint, “but it’s really you?”

I turned away to stifle a giggle. I felt bad for Chris, but this was too funny.

He nodded. “In the flesh.”

“Can I get your autograph?” She reached in her back pocket and thrust a pen and paper in his face. He graciously accepted it.

“Absolutely, sweetheart. What’s your name?” Chris glanced at me, silently apologizing for the disruption. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“Emma,” she said, nervously twisting a strand of hair on her finger. She shot Chris another wide, metal smile.

“Emma,” he repeated while he signed the paper.

Emma quickly pulled out her cell phone, shoving her tiny body next to his to snap a picture of them together.

Handing it back to her, Chris said, “I’ll tell you what… you keep this on the down low and I’ll hook you up with a signed album. My guys will take care of it for you.” Chris winked toward his body guard.